Give My Regards to Broadway
by Original-Z
Summary: A/U S1 Post-HS Est.Faberry. A collection of related oneshots about the disgustingly-blissful, sometimes sexy, mostly hilarious domesticity of Rachel and Quinn. Chapter 9: There comes a time in every child's life where they completely letdown their parents
1. Death of a Tony

**Title**: Death of a Tony  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Length<strong>: 952 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Pilot  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Post-graduation. Rachel returns home from a business trip to find Tony dead.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel, Featuring Drizzle!  
><strong>AN:** This is not what I intended on writing today, but whatevs.

* * *

><p>Rachel breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the key in the lock and entered her brownstone. It was good to be home after more than a week away doing press releases, TV shows, radio interviews and a photo shoot. All she wanted was to crawl in bed with her two girls and cuddle until jetlag was a thing of the past.<p>

All was quiet in the entryway; Rachel frowned as she pulled her luggage inside and placed her purse and keys on the small table. She looked at her watch wondering if it was later than she thought. No it was only 7pm, Quinn and Liza should still be having dinner. The petite actress cautiously entered the living room, half expecting to spring some sort of trap (_Taken_ had been playing on the flight home, and it's not irrational paranoia if it could actually happen to you!).

What she found was her wife and daughter, both quite subdued, waiting patiently for her on the couch. Liza kicked her legs in the air nervously, trying to smile at her mother. Quinn looked, for the most part, serene with only a touch of nervousness evident in her posture.

Rachel, satisfied that neither girl was signaling for help with their eyes, smiled at the two most important women in her life. "You know, this isn't precisely the greeting I had in mind—" The sentence was left hovering in the air, unfinished, as Liza rushed forward and hurtled herself at her mother, sobbing loudly.

"I'm s-s-sorry, it was an ac-c-cident." The seven year old gripped the brunette women as hard as she could as sobs wracked her body.

Reflexively Rachel closed her arms around the little girl and cradled her while making soothing sounds. Terribly confused, she looked up at her wife trying to figure out what had Elizabeth so upset. Quinn smiled apologetically and gestured to the coffee table. On it sat a Tony Award—in three pieces.

Rachel crouched down and gently lifted Liza's head so she could look her daughter in the eyes. "Liza, look at me." Sad hazel eyes met warm brown ones. "There is nothing irreparable in this world. There's nothing broken that you, your mother—," Rachel looked at the broken award and winced. "Google and I can't fix."

Liza's tears petered off into gentle hiccups and through the hiccups she managed to explain how she had broken her mom's first Tony. Rachel smiled and listened attentively to the explanation the energetic seven year old gave her.

_("So I was watching **RENT**, right? And "La Vie Boehme" came on…")_

Rachel watched Quinn enter the kitchen.

_("And Mark was dancing on the table…")_

Quinn smiled fondly at her daughter as she half-listened to the chatter while she set up dinner.

_("So then I moved into fifth position but I couldn't balance the soccer ball…")_

The take-out food had been warming in the oven, it was from Rachel's favorite Italian place but she never got to go because Quinn hated the food there always claiming it gave her heartburn.

_("But I managed to catch the Grammy and the Drama Desk Award landed on Bette—she's totally okay…")_

Later, much later, after Liza had been put to bed and Rachel and Quinn were alone in their bedroom Rachel turned to her wife calmly.

"So, what did you have to bribe our daughter with to take the fall for the award?"

Quinn froze, her face comically stuck between surprise and horror. "What are you talking about?"

"Despite my best efforts and Liza's musical upbringing, she has shown zero interest in musical theater or ballet, so you expect me to believe it was a combination of these two things that culminated in the untimely death of my favorite award?"

Quinn leapt out of bed with a dramatic flair that could only be the result of years of close contact with the pint-sized diva. "Are you implying _**I**_ murdered your Tony? And that I then cowardly coerced our daughter into lying about it to emotionally manipulate you into not being upset! That is outrageous!"

Rachel chuckled at her wife's histrionics, it wasn't often she got to be the less dramatic one. She patted the spot on the bed Quinn had vacated and coaxed the blonde back into her arms.

The words, "I'm sorry" got mumbled into the fabric of Rachel's pajamas.

"It's okay Quinn. It's just stuff, all easily fixed or replaceable."

Suspicious hazel eyes darted up to meet coffee ones. "You're taking this surprisingly well."

"Like I said, the damage is repairable. Why cry over what's been done?"

Somewhat mollified Quinn settled back down. When Rachel felt the tension ease out of her wife's body she spoke again.

"Bette didn't chew up your limited edition Strider action figure. I accidently knocked it off the mantle and got it caught in the vacuum. I covered in it peanut butter to get Bette to chew on it before I washed it off and put it in her bed." Rachel winced and then relaxed. Boy was it good to get _that_ off her chest.

Quinn sat up and stared at Rachel with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You _framed_ my dog?" Wide eyes grew incrementally wider. "_**That's**_why you bought me the Narsil replica sword and brought Viggo Mortensen to dinner for my birthday!" She swatted her wife ineffectually as the smaller woman shielded herself with a pillow.

"Hey, at least I didn't drop an award on the dog."

"If you're not careful someone will drop a _house_ on _you._" Quinn muttered mutinously, unable to believe that Rachel had managed to con her for two years.

Rachel, who was set to play Elphaba in the live action movie _Wicked_, wasn't amused.


	2. Return of the King

**Title**: Return of the King  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for strong language and a hint of amusing blasphemy  
><strong>Length<strong>: 1,141 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Preggers  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Post-graduation. Sequel to **Death of a Tony**. Rachel accidentally kills the Heir of Isildur.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel, Featuring Viggo Mortensen!

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>It's like someone drained my brain out, set my frozen mind to thaw,<br>Let the lethargy and pain out, while I stood and watched in awe." **_

Rachel sung along with her iPod at the top of her, rather impressive, lungs while bouncing around the living room. Ostensibly she was making certain everything was in place for her girlfriend's birthday dinner. Some might say that re-vacuuming the just vacuumed room was overkill but Rachel was full of nervous energy and needed something to do.

Brittany, Santana and Elizabeth were hard at work distracting Quinn from the fact that Rachel was home, alone, with nothing to do but plan her dinner.

As always music was perfect for whisking Rachel off to another world. Caught up in her mini-performance Rachel abandoned all pretense of vacuuming and leapt off the top of the coffee table on the last iteration of the chorus to land nimbly on the fireplace's hearth accidently knocking everything from the mantle.

Somewhat paranoid Rachel turned a full circle to make sure no one had seen her childishness, or its results. Mollified by the fact that she was still alone in her house Rachel laughed at her own antics as she picked up the objects she had felled from their home.

A picture of her parents,

A picture of her, Quinn and Liza,

Awesome autographed napkin signed by Ms. Streisand,

Unflattering paparazzi photo of Rachel and Quinn ("_Faberry's Night on the Town_") that Quinn wouldn't let her throw away—or throw darts at,

Ugly troll thing Quinn loved.

There, everything sorted.

With everything back in its proper place Rachel resumed vacuuming. This time she restrained herself to humming under her breath.

Several minutes passed without incident until** *CRUNCH* **something got caught in the super powerful industrial vacuum Miss Pillsbury had sent Quinn as a graduation gift. Rachel closed her eyes because her sixth sense was telling her precisely what had transpired.

She looked back at the mantle;

A picture of her parents,

A picture of her, Quinn and Liza,

Awesome autographed napkin signed by Ms. Streisand,

Unflattering paparazzi photo of Rachel and Quinn (_"Faberry's Night on the Town_") that Quinn wouldn't let her throw away—or throw darts at

Ugly troll thing Quinn loved—uh oh. The ugly troll thing was an Uruk-hai and it was supposed to be battling the Heir of Isildur. The Heir of Isildur was currently battling the suction power of an industrial vacuum.

"Oh Jesus, Joseph and dog-humping Mary!" Rachel cursed loudly as she yanked the power cord from the wall. She dropped to her knees and turned the vacuum over.

There was Strider. Cape first, stuck in the tube.

Praising any listening deity for her tiny (not at all mannish) hands Rachel carefully, oh so carefully, eased Aragorn from his confine.

Where was his sword? He was supposed to have a fucking sword!

Quinn was going to kill her. Then Quinn would go to jail for second-degree murder and would never see Liza again. Puck would take full custody of their daughter and _Beth_ would be sporting a Mohawk before the week was out. And Rachel would be dead before she EGOT-ed.

This wouldn't do.

Not at all.

However telling the truth was not an option, Quinn would be upset and cut her off and then they wouldn't get to have stupendously amazing Birthday!Sex.

No, it was for the good of everyone if someone else took the fall for this.

But whom?

At that moment Bette, their German Sheppard puppy, wandered back into the room. The loud sounds of the vacuum and the flailing of her mistress had scared the young dog off.

Then she got an idea. An awful idea. The Diva got a wonderful _awful_ idea!

"Bette" she called out in a sing-song voice.

Eagerly the puppy bounded over to its' mistress' side. Rachel thought it hilarious that the dog, which had been a gift for Quinn, only ever listened to Rachel.

She proffered the slightly mangled toy—er that is, _collectible_ to the dog. Obediently Bette sniffed the toy and sat down. Rachel wilted. Her plan hinged on engaging Bette's chew instinct.

Rachel scampered off into the kitchen and set about searching for peanut butter. Her lack of familiarity with her own kitchen was telling but after several minutes of frantic, but careful, searching she found the peanut butter in the pantry.

On the top shelf.

She was going to fire whoever organized this kitchen.

It took some doing but eventually Rachel rescued the peanut butter with the combination of a step ladder, several phones books and a broom handle.

Aragorn, covered in peanut butter, was again offered to the puppy.

This time Bette eagerly settled on the tile alternating between licking and biting the figure. Rachel carefully supervised because she didn't want the dog to accidently eat some plastic of whatever the damn thing was made out of.

It only took a minute until Rachel felt Strider was properly chewed. The collectible was dumped in the sink and doused with water. Rachel would hold on to it until Quinn came back at which point she would stealthily sneak it back into the dog's bed.

That took care of the toy but it was still a goner and that would make Quinn ridiculously sad.

Unless…

Rachel dashed to her cell and scrolled the contact list until she hit Sam—her agent.

"Sam, Rachel Berry, I need you to make some things happen." The singer quickly delineating _precisely_ what was required and emphasized the urgency of the request.

And that was how, three and a half hours later, just twenty minutes before Quinn was due back, Rachel found herself to be the proud new owner of an Anduril Narsil replica for $450. It also explains how she came to be hostess to Viggo Mortensen, who was the closet LOTR cast member to her location.

"So run this by me one more time?" Vig sat on the couch and stared at the tiny bundle of energy that was furiously pacing back and forth.

"Today is the birthday dinner for my girlfriend, Quinn. She's a huge fan and meeting you is a great surprise for her."

"I got that part. The part I can't quite recall is how I got shanghaied into _doing_ it." The actor wasn't affronted, just bewildered. One minute he had been entering his favorite restaurant and the next he was sitting in the Broadway singer's living room.

"People move in mysterious ways. As compensation for your time you have tickets to any show I ever do, front and center."

"Fair enough."

And that is how Rachel came to have Birthday!Sex, Sorry-your-toy-got-broken!Sex, I-Met-Viggo-Mortensen!Sex and Oh-My-God-You-Are-The-Best-Girlfriend-Ever!Sex all in one night.

And no one got hurt. Except for Bette whose feelings were quite hurt at being scolded, but then she chewed up Santana's shoes and felt better.

And the mangled collectible? He received a burial befitting his status.


	3. It's an Honor to be Nominated

**Title**: It's an Honor to be Nominated (but not really)  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13, one instance of strong language  
><strong>Length<strong>: 1,505 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Preggers  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Post-graduation. Same universe as Return of the King and Death of a Tony. Rachel and Quinn are getting ready for the Oscars.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry, star of stage and film, followed a long train of fabric through the Master bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. Taking great care to avoid stepping on the ivory material she craned her neck in the doorway and watched in amusement as her wife stuck her head in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. The twenty-eight year old attorney was on her hands and knees in an Oscar de la Renta gown that cost more than she used to make in a month bartending through her days at NYU. "Rachel," The blond called, her voice somewhat muffled by the environs. "have you seen my—"<p>

"Your what?" The brunette asked, far closer than Quinn expected. The older woman jerked in surprise and cracked her head soundly against the metal sink pipes. "**Fuck**!" She cursed loudly, tenderly touching the sore spot on her forehead.

"Oh sweetie, your head." Rachel tried to stifle the laughter bubbling up at the sight of her lover wincing and sulking like a child but her efforts were in vain as the chuckles escaped in short spurts.

"It hurts." Quinn whined as she rubbed her head. Showing a blatant disregard for the high fashion dress she was wearing the blonde woman sat on the floor of her bathroom nursing both her wound and a grudge against the piping. The sounds her wife was making quickly got her attention. Eyes wide open in disbelief she glared at the love of her life. "…are you _laughing_?" She asked, her voice dripping in incredulity.

Rachel valiantly tried to force the smile away from her face, but for once her highly-trained facial muscles were rebelling. "I'm sorry Quinn, it's just—if we hadn't gone to High School together I would never believe you were coordinated enough to **be**a cheerleader. Never mind cheerleading _**Captain**_ for three years on a team ranked first in the nation." The petite brunette was thankful her own dress had significantly less fabric than Quinn's; she was able to crouch down to her wife's level and pull her into a standing position.

Quinn was really in no mood to comply. She vacated the bathroom and sat on the fainting couch Rachel had insisted on putting in their bedroom. "My head hurts and you're making fun of me. In the state of New York this is grounds to divorce on account of irreconcilable differences."

"I said I was sorry. Don't be mad, honey. Not _tonight_." Rachel batted her long eyelashes and smiled beatifically.

"Hmmph." The young attorney wasn't really upset, but she also wasn't about to let her wife off so easy. Not when she had the woman right where she wanted her.

Rachel again pulled her love until the taller woman was again upright. She gathered Quinn in her arms and led her in a slow dance as she softly sang their unofficial song directly into her wife's ear.

"_Baby love, my baby love, _

_Been missing you,_

_Miss kissing you._

_Instead of breaking up_

_Let's have some kissin' and makin' up._"

Quinn melted in Rachel's embrace as the singer gently crooned out the familiar lyrics. If asked by the press in interviews or by fans on the street Rachel and Quinn's song was some Broadway standard most people could care less about; it fit with the image she projected to the world. In the privacy of their home however, their song was a Motown single that most people under the age of seventy considered unfashionable. And maybe it was unfashionable, or an oddly dark choice for a 'relationship song'—none of that mattered because Quinn loved it and Rachel loved it because Quinn loved it.

"_Don't throw our love away,_

_In my arms you're gonna stay._

_Need you, need you._

_Oooh, baby love_."

It was a touching, romantic moment. The kind Quinn knew Rachel thrived on; she had to put the breaks on the Sap-Fest before she began bawling like a child, because once the water works started she would have to endure another session in the makeup chair. "You're spinning around a woman with a head injury, are you sure you passed that first aid class?" She asked dryly as she arched a meticulously groomed eyebrow.

Practically floating on air Rachel ignored her lover's jibe. She pinched the fair-skinned woman's cheeks gently. "I'm ignoring your recalcitrant behavior and attributing it to the fact that you're upset you're going to have a noticeable goose egg on the red carpet photographs. As long as you're nice to me I'll pay off some of the paps to airbrush it out." Rachel wasn't really concerned because Quinn's injury was nowhere near as bad as she was making it out to be; the teasing nature of their relationship was a two-way street.

Panicked, Quinn made a dash for the nearest mirror, always mindful of the length of her dress. The blonde woman spent several seconds examining her reflection from different angles until she was satisfied that Rachel had been greatly exaggerating. "Remind me again why I married you?" The attorney asked with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

As always Rachel considered herself to be up to the challenge. "Because I'm a hot piece of ass who was named Most Intriguing Person two years running?" She asked with a coy smile. When Quinn simply rolled her eyes Rachel gamely moved on. "No? Okay then, maybe it's because I took advantage of your intoxicated state before proposing to you?"

Quinn let out a single, loud laugh before she reined herself in. Rachel's warm brown eyes danced with delight. "Not that either, huh?" She tapped her chin as she pretended to concentrate on the matter at hand. "Because you love me." Rachel said simply. "Because I got down on one knee with a tear in my eye and asked you for the privilege to spend my life with you and Liza." Quinn stared at Rachel, surprised by the serious turn the conversation had taken and touched by the sincerity in her wife's words.

"Because tonight when I get up on that stage to accept that award the only person I'm going to look for in the sea of people is you. Because I can always count on you to be the center of my world, to ground me so I can remember my speech without melting into a puddle of elation." Rachel grasped Quinn's hand and interlaced their fingers.

The older woman made a noise that was midway between a laugh and a sob. With her free hand she tried to wipe away the tears forming behind her lashes without causing further disruption to her makeup. Quinn half-heartedly swatted at Rachel. "Way to make me cry, Berry. Now I've got to fix my makeup."

More than a little misty-eyed herself Rachel chuckled softly. "Make sure to use waterproof mascara this time, darling. I plan to move you to tears with my eloquence tonight." A wide, toothy smile marked the return of Rachel Berry [Gold-Star]—a woman whose ego and self-assuredness knew no bound.

"There's not a doubt in your mind that you won't win, is there?" Thirteen years ago that kind of unshakable confidence would have pissed Quinn off to no end. Thirteen years later and Quinn didn't think she could live without it.

"Not a one." Rachel affirmed with an affable smirk.

Quinn sighed. "You're—"

"Adorable? Beloved? Charming? Delightful? Effervescent?" Rachel had a million watt grin on her face as she kept throwing out adjectives. Quinn knew from experience that if allowed her wife would go through the entire alphabet…_**multiple times**_.

"You're lucky I love you." She said simply, her chest near bursting with affection for the woman before her.

Rachel's dark eyes met Quinn's lighter ones. "I certainly am." She said seriously, her earlier teasing nature noticeably absent.

The blonde woman closed the distance between the two and captured her wife's full lips in a kiss. The kiss was not nearly as deep as she would have preferred, both parties were conscious of their hair and makeup—Quinn made a note to really kiss her wife once the whole night was over.

Still the sight of the two women kissing was enough to gain a loud protest. "Oh my god, there is a child present." Liza Berry-Fabray made loud and overly dramatic gagging noises. Secretly the twelve year old enjoyed the evidence of her mothers' love for each other—still she felt it her job to offer token protests. "Get a room you two! Honestly, it's not like I don't know why you're making me stay at tía Santana's tonight—can't you guys keep it in your ball gowns?" Her mothers rolled their eyes in unison and made a show of kissing each other with loud, obnoxious sound effects.

Never let it be said that Liza Berry-Fabray didn't know an exit cue when she saw one.

Rachel Berry won her first Oscar that night—as if there was ever any doubt.

Quinn Fabray got laid that night—as if there was ever any doubt.


	4. The Land Before Glee

**Title**: The Land Before Glee  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Length<strong>: 1,505 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Preggers  
><strong>Summary<strong>: **CRACK! **AU, Death of a Tony 'verse. dino!Rachel and dino!Quinn had a love for the epochs.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel

**A/N**: I'm sorry. So sorry.**rusty_tiffany** practically dared me to do it and I can't turn down a dare. **wickedme763** gets credit for the title and being my general sounding board; there I gave you credit and I won't do it again.

* * *

><p>There are many famous and infamous dinosaurs known throughout the world; the T-Rex, the Brontosaurus, Dino, Little Foot and Barney just to name a few. It's a shame they get all the acclaim when there are <em>other, <em>more_**interesting**_, dinosaurs that also have tales to tell.

This is the story of two dinosaurs; _Rachasaurus Regina_ and _Qunnceratops_—for brevity's sake let's simply call them Rach and Quinn.

Rach and Quinn were two creatures living in the same jungle and their location was really the only thing they had in common.

Where Quinn was a feared and powerful, meat-loving dinosaur of import, renowned throughout the jungle Rach was self-professed to be a "vigilant herbivore" that was somewhat short for her height and would be completely overlooked if it wasn't for her loud voice and bright—almost garish coloring. Every day, as if it was somehow planned, Rach and Quinn crossed paths at the local watering hole.

Being much higher on the Food Chain Quinn and her friends—usually a particularly vicious _VelociLopez _and an addlepated Brittolophus—always got first dibs on the water. The three abused this privilege to a great degree and would often cut in front of the less intimidating dinosaurs because they could.

Given her somewhat limited stature and mostly harmless nature Rach _should_ have been at the very end of the water line. In reality her position was much higher due to her propensity for releasing an earth shattering scream that could be heard for hundreds of miles which would drive off all but the most determined or deaf dinosaurs.

To be honest Rach's superior vocal abilities were truly the reason she had survived past adolescence as Quinn took great delight in chasing down the brightly colored dinosaur in a mostly half-hearted effort to gobble her up. Unfortunately for Rach Quinn was either determined to an extreme or partially deaf as, for the most part, she ignored [or enjoyed] the racket Rach was prone to making when frightened.

Many dinosaurs might have migrated to a different [safer] watering hole under such tenuous conditions but Rach was determined not to be run off by the likes of Quinnceratops.

Also Rach was an optimist and firmly believed that every day was a new beginning and an opportunity for Quinn to change her scales. And though it never happened Rach never stopped going to the watering hole each morning hoping something different would happen.

This went on for many, many days and nights until the day things changed.

The sky was lit up a blazing red as a ball of fire streaked across the sky. All the denizens of the jungle stared upwards, rapt with fascination. Rachasaurus Regina bounded through the groups of inert creatures hopping and crowing with excitement.

"Quinn! Quinn! Quinnceratops, have you seen the sky? The stars are so close that I can practically _**touch**_ them!" Rach paused and considered her statement. "Well, Finnhudseidon could practically touch them."

Panicked shouting derailed any potential reply Quinn might have had. A Ptinadactyl, known for her nervousness, swooped over the gathered reptiles shouting, "The sky is falling! The world is ending! Sexasharkus Noahlodon saw it in a dream; he's stopped swimming!"

Gasps tore through the crowds as everyone began to panic.

Quinnceratops turned her attention to Rach who was still looking upwards at Ptina, confused by her fear.

"Ptina must be mistaken; nothing so beautiful could do us harm!" Rach said, stubbornly. She turned her attention toward Quinn. "I know all about stars, they're very magical—since this one is so close to us it must be doubly magical, I'm going to make a wish." Rach closed her beady eyes and concentrated on her wish.

Quinn stared at the odd little dinosaur, overcome by a bizarre feeling. If this was going to be her last day breathing the same air as Rach she knew how she wanted to spend it. She stepped forward and gathered Rach in her arms…well, she _tried_ to anyway. Quinn's head was rather large and her arms were distressingly short so it didn't work out.

Rach, thinking Quinn was trying once again to devour her, panicked. "This was not my wish! Do not eat me, I'll scream!"

"I don't want to eat you, Tar Pit Breath; I want to kiss you!" Quinn snarled in frustration, angrily waving her short arms about.

Rach froze, puzzled by both the phase and the turn of events. Slowly, ever so slowly the two reptiles leaned in closer and—

"What the _**hell**_ are you doing?" A voice said suddenly from the doorway of the living/play room.

Rachel sat up in surprise and dropped the plastic dinosaurs she had been playing with. A deep flush spread across the brunette's face as she looked up at her girlfriend of almost two years. Rachel cleared her throat and smiled nervously. "Quinn, always a pleasure." The petite girl swept up the chubby toddler she'd been laying next to on the fluffy carpet and positioned little Liza as a human shield.

"'Always a pleasure'? Really, Rach? What the hell are you doing?" Quinn valiantly tried to keep her face in a scowl of disapproval but it was difficult. Her girlfriend was so damned cute.

"We were just having a little story time." Rachel flashed her even, white teeth in a dazzling smile hoping to distract the older girl. "Also we didn't know Mommy would be home so soon." She grumbled slightly under her breath without changing her facial expression in the least.

Quinn shook her head; sometimes she wondered who was humoring whom during these games. "Go put Liza to bed so we can have a discussion about your alternate history lessons and why they're completely inappropriate for our daughter."

Rachel hugged the sleepy child to her chest and stuck her tongue out at her lover. Liza nuzzled in closer to the petite girl and grabbed a handful of thick brown hair; as always Rachel took the hair pulling like a champ and carefully climbed the stairs with her daughter. "My story _**still**_ has more credibility than intelligent design!" Was her parting shot.

Quinn watched the two disappear with a fond smile on her face. There was nothing that touched her more than seeing how her two favorite girls loved each other. The tired blonde flopped on the couch and smoothed out her slightly rumpled uniform.

Hazel eyes took in the mess the covered the Berry living room; it always amazed her how much of a disaster area the room resembled after Rachel and Elizabeth got through playing. Apparently Rachel's obsessive need for organization didn't apply to playtime, a fact—her fathers confirmed had been characteristic of the girl since she was a small[er] child. With an exasperated sigh the blonde teen bent down and began collecting all the puzzles, books, stuffed animals and sheet music her girls had strewn about.

In only a couple of minutes nearly everything had been restored to its proper place—the only thing yet to be put away were the toy dinosaurs and plastic palm trees she had walked in on Rachel playing with. A glance toward the stairs confirmed the fact that Rachel was still busy reading Elizabeth her bedtime story. Quinn knelt down and picked up a purple Stegosaurus and a green dinosaur she couldn't identify—_**she**_had spent her childhood playing with gender appropriate toys that Rachel and Puck both scoffed at.

She carefully walked the toys through the elaborate jungle set that Rachel had spent hours putting together. "Yes. Yes, this a fertile land, and we will thrive. We will rule over all this land and we will it...'This Land'." Quinn turned the carnivore savagely on his plant-eating ally.

"I think we should call it 'Your Grave'!"

The stegosaurus keeled over in obvious agony. "Ah! Curse your sudden, but inevitable, betrayal!"

The raptor-like thing descended violently upon the injured reptile. "Har, har, har!" He cackled with malicious glee and satisfaction. "Mine is an evil laugh! Now die!"

"Oh, no—God! Oh, dear God in—"

"**NERD!**" The loud, jubilant cry caused Quinn's heart to leap up into her throat.

"Rachel! It's not what it looks like…"

"That's funny because it looks like you were reenacting a famous scene from the ill-fated series _Firefly_. A television show that, as I recall, you refused to watch because it was for nerds." Rachel smiled victoriously. "So now I feel it only fair to return the favor." An accusing finger was thrust in Quinn's direction. "_Nerd!_"

Quinn blushed a violent, tomato red that covered her face, her ears, continued down her neck and disappeared under her collar. With great dignity she stood and straightened her pleated skirt and top and walked past her girlfriend ignoring the snickers from the shorter girl. Just before the blonde turned the corner a tanned hand shot out and caught her arm.

Rachel smiled at how disgruntled her girlfriend was. "Every time I think it isn't possible for me to love you any more you prove me wrong. If I didn't love you so much I think I'd hate that."

"No one here cares if you're a closeted nerd, Quinn. We've got far more important matters to consider; Browncoats or Alliance?"

Quinn rolled her eyes at the seriousness with which Rachel asked her question. She rotated her hand until she was tugging on her girlfriend's and led the girl upstairs. "Let's just say I aim to misbehave."


	5. Healthy Competition

**Title**: Healthy Competition  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG  
><strong>Length<strong>: 540 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: All of Season One  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Drabble. Rachel Berry meets some future competition.  
>Death of a TonyReturn of the King/It's an Honor to be Nominated/Land Before Glee 'Verse  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel

* * *

><p>Rachel and her co-stars exited the stage door to a multitude of applause. It was really to be expected as it was the EGOT winner's 1,000th (and final) performance as Eva Peron. Over the shouts of her fans and the shutters of the paparazzi cameras a tiny, but shrill, voice could be heard. Crushed by the swell of the crowd a little girl, of no more than six, was yelling Rachel's name over and over again—even as she was pushed into one of the theater's muscle bound security hands.<p>

Having a soft spot for children the actress approached the small girl with dirty blonde hair.

The girl's eyes grew wide and round when she realized her idol was coming closer. Rachel crouched down to the little girl and smiled one of her trademarked Berry grins. "Is there something you want me to sign, young lady?"

The tiny blonde head bobbed rapidly as the girl simultaneously nodded and tried to hand her Elphaba notebook to the star. Her little hands trembled as she tried to land her book into Rachel's hands. Gently Rachel took the book from the child and opened to the first blank page. "And to whom should I make this out?" She asked, thoroughly charmed by the eager fan.

"Rachel Idina Delmonico, Ms. Berry. My mom is a huge fan too, she even named me after you!" The high-pitched response easily carried over the loud crowd to the diva's trained ears.

"Well I am honored to meet you, Miss Delmonico." With great gravitas big!Rachel (relative to the size of the child, anyway) shook little!Rachel's hand. Little Rachel responded with a show-face so optimistic it could probably cure cancer.

Rachel laughed at the girl's antics and began to pen the dedication. "To Rachel Idina Delmonico—" Before she could get any further little!Rachel interrupted.

"I sign my name with _**two**_ gold stars, Ms. Berry. It's a metaphor because one day I'm going to be twice the star you are."

Rachel's pleasant smile froze as she eyed the potential competition. Her brown eyes narrowed and her right hand clenched around the Disney pen she was using. Her left hand seemed to sail through the air in slow motion as it approached the child.

Quinn, who had been content to watch her wife do her thing while remaining a safer distance from the over-eager crowd, chose this moment to intervene. With ease borne of much practice the blonde attorney pressed her body next to Rachel's and bumped her as an ever-so-slight reminder to behave. Rachel patted little!Rachel's head brusquely and quickly finished the autograph.

"To Rachel Idina Delmonico**, Always do your best. And remember there's no shame in second place. **XOXO** _Rachel Berry_ *"

With that she pulled the girl into a big hug under the watchful eye of her wife. Just before she let go she whispered into little!Rachel's ear. "Bring it on, kid. I'll _**destroy**_ you before you get to EGO."

Rachel released the girl with a big smile, stood and intertwined her arm with Quinn's. As the two ducked into the town car Quinn frowned at the satisfied smirk on Rachel's face. "Do I even want to _know_ what you said to that little girl?"

"Plausible deniability."


	6. Rachel Berry's Guide to Losing

**Title**: Rachel Berry's Guide to Losing Gracefully  
><strong>Author<strong>: **hippo_crat**  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13 (For allusions to sex, sexual activity and coarse language. I also drop an f-bomb.)  
><strong>Length<strong>: 4,300 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: All of Season One  
><strong>Summary<strong>: For **tutorgurltigger** 's birthday! Rachel's one award away from an EGOT, but this time the competition is fierce.  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Quinn/Rachel, mentions Brittany/Santana

* * *

><p>Rachel <em><strong>should<strong>_ have had it in the bag.

She had spent six, pain-staking years carefully combing over the various script offers and ideas pitched to her for guest spots on television shows. At the age of 28 she was standing on the brink of an Emmy; poised to complete one of her lifetime goals **right** on the schedule she had had planned out since she was six years old.

Rachel Berry, star of stage and film, was going to spread her sphere of influence to television in order to win an Emmy and officially become an Emmy-Grammy-Oscar-Tony winner. She would _**EGOT**_.

By winning an Emmy Award before her 29th birthday Rachel would **tie** with her biggest inspiration's EGOT achievement of youngest EGOT winner. She would have surpassed Ms. Streisand by doing it in six years instead of seven and _**her**_ Tony was not a "non-competitive award".

So when she was offered a spot on the biggest television phenomenon since _LOST_, _Friends_ and _American Idol_ combined as the heroic politician's secretly-evil, backstabbing assistant/lover she jumped at the chance. Because, really, how many times was _anyone_ going to offer _**Rachel**_ a shot at being an evil, scheming, badass character that got to do wire work?

Her first venture on the small screen was met with much acclaim and it would not be an understatement to say that the internet had been frothing with both glowing reviews of her performance and seething hatred for her character and the cliffhanger ending.

Emmy buzz had surrounded her project since the cameras started rolling and after the episodes started airing people were calling her a shoe-in for the win.

Enter Barbra Streisand.

**Barbra Streisand,** AKA _Rachel Berry's role model since the first time she'd seen _Funny Girl, came out of retirement _**specifically**_ to play someone's dying grandmother in a role that was _**clearly**_ Emmy bait. People across the country had turned on their televisions/DVRs to watch the 80 year old woman deliver a highly anticipated, highly promoted, heart-breaking performance on primetime.

Rachel easily remembered the night she had spent sitting with Quinn staring at the television in disbelief. Quinn had sat for the entire hour of the program wincing and preparing for her wife's inevitable mental breakdown—this wasn't going to be pretty—the lawyer had already realized months before, when rumors of Barbra's guest spot was first announced, that the legendary woman was going to be in competition with Rachel for the best Guest Actress in a Drama Series Emmy.

* * *

><p>As the screen faded to black and the credits began to roll Rachel turned to her wife with tears streaming down her face. Quinn's heart leapt in her throat at the sight of the petite actress's distress. "It's okay, Rachel. I don't think this is really all that bad, your performance in—"<p>

"Barbra is going to _**die**_ one day!" Rachel wailed. She dove on top of Quinn and clung to the blonde woman for support. "She's already 80 and one day she's going to die and there's going to be a world without her in it!"

Instinctively, Quinn held her wife tighter and rocked the smaller woman in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion. This wasn't good. Rachel's distress was only delaying the realization that she'd more than likely lost her Emmy; any second now the diva was going to remember she wasn't just a _fan_ of Barbra's, she was her _**competition**_.

Already Rachel was composing herself and wiping off her tears. "I find it comforting that even as an octogenarian Ms. Streisand is able to evoke such raw emotions from me. It's inspirational. If this woman _doesn't_ win an Emmy for that performance there is no justice in the—OH! Oh, no!"

And there it was. Quinn pressed a kiss to the smooth column of Rachel's neck in an effort to distract the woman from the approaching breakdown.

Rachel leapt to her feet after a brief struggle to free herself from the attorney's arms. "I'm going to lose. I'm going to lose, Quinn! This is disastrous. It signifies the end of my meteoric rise to stardom and now I'll never amount to anything. I'll die an old has-been doing voice actor work for the inferior Disney sequels to their _good_ films. You and Liza will be so ashamed you'll leave me for a younger, more talented, ingénue and all I'll have left are the memories. At least I'll have them until my mind slips away from my grasp and leaves me feebly drooling into a bowl of porridge with my teeth in a glass _and only my _**fleas** _will mourn me_!"

Quinn blinked. One would think that _**decades**_ of exposure to Rachel Berry's own brand of insanity would have made Quinn more practiced at recovery. The athletic blonde ungracefully rolled/fell off the couch in her hurry to reach her wife who was on the carpet with her knees tucked under her chin rocking in a miserable fashion.

Elizabeth chose this moment to walk by the doors to the home theater room juggling a bottle of soda and large container of popcorn. Her friend (Amy? Sunny? River?) trailed close behind. Liza eyed her parents—Rachel a sobbing pile of pathetic-ness and Quinn arms flailing about uselessly—with exasperation. "She saw the Barbra episode didn't she?"

Quinn nodded at the twelve year old girl. Liza sighed dramatically and turned to her shadow. "Tierra, our movie night just got cancelled. Let's go call your mom." The quiet girl (Tara? Terra? Sarah?) nodded glumly and did a picture-perfect about face.

Before the girls left Quinn called out to her daughter. "We're enacting Plan Charlie. Call your tía Santana and let her know you're spending the night." Liza nodded dutifully, already mapping out what she would need to take with her for the night.

"Elizabeth—" The gangly pre-teen turned back to her mother and impatiently arched an eyebrow. "Let Santana know; we're at Threat Level: _Aubergine_."

Turning back to the crisis at hand Quinn was surprised, but ecstatic, to realize Rachel had stopped trying to work her way into a fetal position. "Sweetie," The blonde spoke softly, tucking a strand of her wife's dark hair behind her ear. "If you lose it isn't the end of the world. Liza and I are never going to leave you and you're not going to die, alone covered in fleas, face down in a bowl full of porridge. Besides, I thought Streisand totally phoned that performance in—no _sane_ person is going to pick her over you."

Rachel sighed mournfully. "Thanks for trying to cheer my up but we both know that Barbra was flawless. _Damn her talent!_"She hissed suddenly.

Quinn pursed her lips to prevent the laughter bubbling up in her chest from escaping. She nuzzled Rachel's tan skin and breathed in the familiar, heady, uniquely-Rachel aroma. "Liz is going to spend the night at Santana and Brittany's place. Is there anything I could do for you?" Pink lips trailed soft kisses up Rachel's jaw line toward the fully, pouty mouth. "Y'know, to get your mind off things?" She murmured, hovering over the singer's tempting [and talented] lips.

Despite herself, Rachel felt a smile work its way onto her face as her wife worked her magic. Almost 12 years together had yet to quell their desires for each other. "Well, now that you've mentioned it—since you've offered—I would love it if you would run into my office and grab my stationary set and my smart phone."

Confused, Quinn stared at Rachel for a long moment. "Wait, what?" She leaned back to get a better look at the tiny actress and was incredibly dismayed to realize the diva was already lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. "Rach, I thought we were going to have comfort!sex?"

Rachel turned on her wife with fire in her eyes. "Quinn, as disappointing as this situation is, my continued commitment for personal excellence compels me to be the most graceful l—looo—_loser_ possible."

Quinn snorted loudly and in a distinctly un-ladylike fashion.

"_Admittedly_ the graceful acceptance of defeat is not my forte, nor is it something I've had a lot of experience—oh, let's be honest, _**any**_ experience—with. This simply means I'll need to plan accordingly. We just don't have time for comfort!sex." The whirling dervish that Quinn called a wife swept out of the theater room leaving a swath of devastation in its path.

"No time for sex?" Quinn whimpered aloud to the empty room.

* * *

><p>If Quinn thought the two months leading up to the announcement of the Emmy nominees were painful it was nothing compared to what was to come. Once the word came through that both Barbra Streisand and Rachel were up for the same Emmy Rachel's preparations entered a whole new level. The actress was terrified of someone catching on to the fact the she was a rather sore loser and was fully committed to 'accepting her inevitable defeat with grace and aplomb'.<p>

* * *

><p>She wasn't happy about it, of course, and it was a very <strong>disgruntled<strong> Rachel Berry that had spent hours in front of a mirror practicing her best 'happy for the winner' face instead of acceptance speeches. She was determined to be a graceful l—lo—_loser_ to her childhood idol and in order to pull that off she would have to put some major time in on an expression that said 'it's okay I didn't win because I'm happy a deserving and talented person won'. Especially since this sort of thing had never come easy to the petite diva.

Four weeks, it continued.

"It's an honor to be nominated." Rachel smiled at her reflection. Nope, no good, the smile was too tight. The actress made several faces in the mirror as she attempted to force her muscles to relax. She tried again. "It was simply an _honor_ to be nominated." Her smile twitched and turned into a sneer. "It's an honor when you've _**won**_, anything less is a slap to the face." The petite brunette grumbled as she turned away from the mirror, the desire to pitch a royal, diva-sized tantrum was rising with each passing day.

"How's your 'losing with humility and grace' face coming along?"

Rachel turned pinned her daughter with an impressive glare. Unfortunately for Rachel, Liza had become inured to the fearsome stare long ago and the cocky pre-teen just smirked.

A small, but genuine, smile stretched across the singer's face and in a warm, even tone she said, "The competition was unparalleled—just being nominated for the same award as those talent women was an honor."

Liza gave a smile that looked more like a wince. "Yeah…keep working on that, Momma."

* * *

><p>All of this brought Rachel and Quinn to the Sunday morning of the Emmy Awards. The two women stared balefully out the window of their California vacation home.<p>

It was raining.

Of course it was.

There was nothing like a little summer shower to brighten Rachel's mood on the night she was destined to fail her lifelong goal. She sighed.

Quinn pulled the smaller woman away from the window and embraced her from behind. "Britt made sure I took the duck umbrellas she got us for Christmas before we left—I swear that woman would make a killing as a meteorologist." Rachel chuckled and rested her head against her wife's shoulder. Brown eyes closed as she melted into Quinn's body. "I keep trying to get her to come to Las Vegas with me."

"I thought the Las Vegas Gaming Commission politely requested you never set foot in the city again?"

"Minor details, Darling. Minor details." Rachel turned in her wife's arms and leaned upwards to meet Quinn's lips with her own. "You do realize you're going to get incredibly lucky tonight, right?"

The blonde attorney smiled. "Am I? Well, in that case, it will be my _**honor**_ to hold your umbrella this evening."

Rachel laughed loudly at the taller woman's antics. "I often wonder what I could possibly have done to deserve someone as amazing as you?"

Quinn smirked cheekily. "I often wonder the very same thing."

* * *

><p>Rachel carefully stepped up to the platform where the incredibly well-preserved Joan Rivers stood waiting to figuratively sink her bony fingers into the actress's supple, young flesh. She suppressed a shiver of distaste. Red carpet interviews were the worst—the most nerve-wracking experience of an award show. Rachel was always half waiting for someone to make fun of her wardrobe choices or her makeup. It was probably a holdover from high school.<p>

Professional smile in place Rachel greeted Joan with an air kiss.

Joan returned the greeting and the women waited for the cue that the commercials were over and the interview could begin. "Joan Rivers, here for _Access Entertainment News Tonight_. I'm standing here on the red carpet of the 74th annual Primetime Emmy Awards. Joining us is America's Sweetheart, Rachel Berry. Rachel who are you wearing this evening?"

Rachel smiled and smoothed the front of her floor-length gown. "My dress is an Oscar de la Renta and my jewelry was provided by Cartier." The actress turned her head so the cameras could capture the full glory of the bling she was rocking.

"Well, you look fantastic. But enough about that, let's talk about what everyone is wondering tonight. Since you've burst on the scene and captured the hearts and admiration of people all over the world you've won every award you've been nominated for. The competition is pretty tight tonight, you're up against some big names—are you worried?" The [dubiously] blonde T.V. personality's eyes narrowed as she waited for the diva's response. Beady eyes were keen to catch any sign of attitude that gossip magazines could call a feud.

And Quinn had thought Rachel was overreacting with all the sympathetic smiles she's practiced. Ha! Sympathetic smile Number 5 firmly in place Rachel delivered her practiced response. "Joan, I have to say that having my name listed next to the **incomparable** _Barbra Streisand_ is an incredible honor. The entire category is filled with accomplished actresses I would be intimidated to _talk_ to, much less _**work**_ with. I know it's a cliché but it holds true; it's an honor to be nominated alongside them."

The two women exchanged false smiles as they battled a quick war of wills. Joan waiting for Rachel to crack and Rachel waiting for the crypt keeper—seriously this woman was like 90—to move on to the next question. Before the moment could drag on awkwardly Joan admitted defeat and looked down at the large-print note card in her skeletal hand for the next to the next talking point. "I've been told you are a **huge** fan of Barbra Streisand's, are you excited to meet her tonight?"

Rachel's smile froze and her eyes widened. Was she excited to meet Barbra? _Of course she was_—**holy shit** she was going _**to **__**meet**_ Barbra Streisand.

_Oh, God!_ Rachel wasn't at all prepared for this. In all her planning to be a dignified loser it hadn't even occurred to her that she would be meeting her idol. Shit. Shit!

"Rachel?" Joan licked her lips in anticipation. **Finally** she would get some dirt on the obnoxiously, squeaky-clean actress.

"Am I excited?" Rachel asked, biding for time as she firmly cemented her 'show face' back in place. "I don't think there is a word in the English language to describe my elation."

"Well, we here at _Access Entertainment News Tonight_ are rooting for you. Good luck."

* * *

><p>Rachel walked away from the camera in a daze. Once back at Quinn's side she clutched her wife's toned, pale arm and hissed in her ear. "Why didn't anyone tell me I'd be meeting Barbra? I can't do this! I'm completely unprepared. I had a list of things I wanted her to sign! There were things I needed to discuss before she goes back into hermit-dom!"<p>

Quinn patted Rachel's arm in a sympathetic fashion as they continued their red carpet walk. All the while the blonde attorney was privately giving thanks to whatever Higher Power that had kept this very basic, very obvious, realization away from her high-strung wife.

Barbra was freaking _**ancient**_ and Rachel would never forgive herself if the woman had a heart attack as a result of the full attention of one Rachel Berry.

* * *

><p>Finally, they were seated in the quickly filling theater.<p>

Quinn thought the seats were fairly good; end of the center aisle, third row back. They were pretty close to the stage—that was promising, right?

A tanned hand reached over the armrest and settled on her thigh. Rachel leaned in and spoke directly into the blonde woman's ear. "You're still going to love me—even when I lose to Barbra and have to work for the Disney Channel—right?"

Quinn kissed Rachel's temple, careful not to muss the hair, and entwined her fingers with the hand Rachel had on her leg. "I'd love you even if the only job you could get was as Mickey Mouse in Disneyland."

Rachel laughed quietly; the lights were dimming and the ceremony was about to begin. "Bite your tongue, silly woman."

* * *

><p>These award shows always dragged on for far too long.<p>

Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wished she could talk Rachel into taking a bathroom break and maybe have a little fun, but she knew there was no point in trying. After the _small_ incident at the pair's third Drama Desk Award ceremony—where Rachel and Quinn had been in the ladies room having a private party when Rachel was named winner—award show!sex was off the table.

It really was a shame.

No matter, though. The blonde had **a lot** of practice at these kinds of events and she knew Rachel's category was coming up soon.

* * *

><p>"And the winner of the Emmy Award for Best Guest Actress in a Drama goes to…"<p>

Showtime. Rachel plastered a hopeful—but not too hopeful—half smile on her face as she waited for the impeccably groomed man on stage to just get on with it already. Her 4 and ½ inch heels had been kicked off and pushed against the seat in front of her long ago; the end of the night could not come soon enough. She was _starving_ and her feet **hurt**.

"Rachel Berry."

Rachel smiled her oh-well-I've-lost-but-I'm-happy-Barbra-Streisand-won smile and began to applaud enthusiastically. Her movement was restricted when her wife grabbed her and began bouncing ecstatically in the seat beside her. In between the dozen or so lightning-fast kisses Quinn pressed to Rachel's face the singer managed to hear what everyone around her was saying.

"I won?" She asked, truly bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.

Rachel stood on shaky legs, more nervous and confused then she had been winning her first award. The other actors seated nearby shook her hand as she passed them. Panic flooded the actress when she realized she was completely unprepared to deliver an acceptance speech.

'_This is a nightmare. I'm having a nightmare—any second now I'll be standing in front of this crowd in my underwear. This just isn't happening.'_

Sensing her spouse's terror Quinn pulled Rachel into a short, but fiery, kiss. "You'll do fine." She whispered—her soft voice barely audible above the crowd. Rachel nodded, drawing strength from the other woman's certainty.

Rachel grabbed the train of her dress and quickly began to make her way to the stage. Fortunately whoever had planned the seating had more faith in Rachel winning than Rachel did and she wasn't too far from the stage. Hopefully she was _just_ far enough away to cobble together a speech before she got to the microphone.

Halfway up the main aisle the petite woman realized she was walking through the packed theater barefoot. Without hesitation Rachel decided to just keep going—there was no sense in going back for the shoes and looking like an even _bigger_ imbecile tonight.

Careful, deliberate steps got the petite diva safely up the stairs where she accepted the award from the Zac Efron lookalike. Rachel stood onstage, clutching the dangerously sharp award with both hands. She was only slight aware of her bare feet poking out from under her ball gown, most of her higher faculties were dedicated to being terrified about the fact that she was standing in front of an ocean of people with absolutely no idea what to say to them.

Rachel took a deep breath. There was nothing to worry about here. She was an **actress**—_an Oscar winning actress_—a little improv was nothing to get worked up over. Rachel opened her mouth and all that came out was a bizarre, but adorable, cross between a squeak and a humming noise.

Blushing, heavily, Rachel cleared her throat and tried again. "Well, obviously there's been an error in the software used to tally votes." Again she made that adorable overwhelmed squeak. "But I'm calling no backsies. I'm not giving this thing back—I'll lick it if I have to."

Laughter rippled throughout the audience. Only Quinn, Liza, Rachel's dads, Brittany, Santana and Rachel's assistant knew better; Rachel was completely serious.

"I'm not really sure what to say, I honestly wasn't expecting this." Rachel smiled for a moment during which her brain scrambled to remember the Berry™ proper process for award acceptance speeches. "I'd like to thank Rob and Diane for being crazy enough to cast **me** as a badass villain. I'd like to thank the fans of the show for watching and the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences for using faulty tally equipment.

As always I wouldn't be here today without my dads who were behind me every step of the way. I have to thank my daughter, who just might be my toughest critic. And last, but never least, I have to thank my wife, Quinn—my achievements are just as much hers because her strength is mine. I love you Quinn."

* * *

><p>Quinn Fabray-Berry wandered through the backstage areas looking for her wife. The cell phone in her clutch was vibrating unceasingly with texts and messages of congratulations. Given that Rachel had a dozen awards on the mantel you'd think Quinn would be used to watching her wife win—well you'd be wrong. Watching her wife <strong>own<strong> the competition never got old.

All she wanted to do was grab her wife and go back to their place for some awesome victory!sex.

The athletic former cheerleader was nearly bowled over when a 5' 1.75" barefoot, bundle of energy attacked her from behind. The brunette was almost pulsating with the force of her own excitement—Quinn could tell she was riding high on the glory of her win.

With a smirk she held up the heels that were supposed to be on Rachel's feet. "Missing these?"

"Thanks, baby! I can't believe I left them—you're a life saver, I could never meet Barbra Streisand barefooted. The mortification it would induce would be mortal." Rachel laid a hand on Quinn's bare shoulder to steady herself while she pulled the shoes back on. The brunette's head snapped up and her eyes locked onto Quinn's. "I'm going to meet Barbra! Quinn this is the **single most** amazing moment of _my life_—"

Quinn arched an eyebrow and looked distinctly unamused.

Rachel backpedaled in an admirably quick fashion. "Professionally speaking, of course. This pales in comparison to the milestones I've experienced in my personal life. But to the point, which hand should I touch her with? Choose wisely, I won't ever use that hand again!"

"If you think you're giving any part of your body to Barbra Streisand think again." Quinn told her wife firmly; inside she was panicking at the thought of being deprived of any part of Rachel.

"Party pooper." Rachel muttered with a disdainful sniff.

Before Quinn could respond Ms. Streisand entered the green room.

Say. Again.

Ms. Barbra Streisand entered the green room.

"Rachel Berry! I'm a huge fan—" The famous singer would have continued but things ground to a halt when Rachel fainted.

Yeah.

Rachel Berry, upon meeting the woman she's admired since she was old enough to talk, fainted into her wife's arms like a modern-day Scarlett O'Hara.

* * *

><p>"Barbra?" Rachel asked blearily as the world started to come back into focus.<p>

"No, just your wife." Quinn said dryly as she brushed Rachel's hair out of her face.

"What happened?"

"You fainted." It really wasn't nice to be as amused as she was by the entire situation. Rachel was going to be _**crushed**_.

"And Ms. Streisand?"

"She's gone. 80 years old and all that, it was really past her bedtime. And after you fainted she probably got a little too worked up." Quinn winced as she recalled all the yelling and panicked reactions of everyone backstage. (In particular there was a crazy blonde attorney demanding an ambulance be called and a wheelchair be fetched; all the while threatening litigation.)

Rachel bolted into an upright position. "_Did I _kill _**Barbra Streisand**_?" She yelled, flailing about like a coke addict on PCP.

"She's fine. You didn't kill _anyone_."

Fears assuaged, Rachel relaxed once more and tried to get her pulse to return to normal. "Did I get to touch her?" She asked weakly.

"Sorry, Rach, you fainted before you shook hands."

"This is tragic." Rachel muttered despondently.

Quinn smiled and produced Rachel's smart phone. "I had her sign your cell—" Before she could finish her sentence Rachel had grabbed the phone out of her hand and was smothering her with kisses.

Later.

Much later.

When the two were safely in the privacy of their own home Rachel properly demonstrated her appreciation.

And yeah, it was pretty fucking awesome.


	7. Not Tonight, Dear

**Title**: Not Tonight, Dear

**Author**: Hippo_Crat

**Rating**: PG-13

**Length**: 737 words

**Spoilers**: AU, S1  
><strong>Summary<strong>: EGOT-verse. Rachel's home after a long trip and all she wants to do is sleep. Unfortunately her wife has other plans.

* * *

><p>Exhausted and thoroughly jetlagged, Rachel Berry was asleep before her head hit the pillow. If she was lucky neither her wife nor her daughter would be home for several hours and she'd have the opportunity to catch up on sleep before she had to be up to face their enthusiastic and non-jetlagged faces. The world-renowned singersong writer/actress/icon slept for several blissful hours through several phone calls, a dozen texts and a score of emails. Dinner time rolled around and Rachel's rumbling stomach was ignored in favor of more sleep.

* * *

><p>Quinn opened the door to the master bedroom quietly and barely reined in a loud snort at the sight of her wife face-planted in a pillow, limbs stretched out across the massive king-sized bed, humming in her sleep. The athletic blonde eased the door shut already making plans to mock Rachel for not being able to bounce back from jaunting across time zones like she used to.<p>

In the meantime the exhausted woman could sleep for a bit longer.

* * *

><p>"Rachel—"<p>

Rachel groaned and buried her face deeper into the pillows.

"Rachel!"

"Not t'night, Quinn, I'm 'xhausted."

Hazel eyes rolled skyward and the attorney shoved her wife's shoulder harder still.

The brunette turned over and shoved her hand down the front of her pants. "Fine, but you're going to have to give me a minute to catch up."

Quinn watched in interest as the shorter woman began to move her hand in captivating patterns under the tight fabric of her pants. Several moments later Quinn remembered that this _**wasn't**_ the reason she'd woken the sleeping beauty. "_Rachel!_" She hissed trying to get the diva's attention. "Rachel, I didn't wake you up to have **sex**!"

Rachel pulled her hands out of her pants and finally opened her eyes to glare up at the love of her life. The petite woman gave an exasperated growl. "You don't want to have sex after you got me all worked up?"

"No one told you to stick your hand down your pants!" Quinn snapped, not liking the tone the actress was taking with her.

"I strongly feel the message was implied." Rachel rejoined.

The two women glared at each other for a long moment. Quinn was trying her damndest not to laugh at the sleepy, rumpled, horny woman that had given up glaring and was trying to fall back asleep. The blonde poked her wife in the shoulder again. "There's a spider in the tub. I want you to kill it."

"You kill it, I'm sleeping." The brunette whined, writhing in the sheets in evident agony.

"If you take care of the spider I'll make you breakfast in bed tomorrow." Quinn smarmed in a wheedling tone.

"Errgh" Rachel grunted, obviously uninterested.

"**Naked**." She added.

"Errgh?" Rachel grunted, significantly more interested.

"All you have to do is kill one, tiny spider." Quinn smirked as Rachel dragged her weary form out of bed and into the master bathroom. Seconds later there was a loud thud followed by several frantic thuds and one really loud thud. "Did you get it?" The blonde called, staring intently at the door. She was watching just in case the spider got by her wife and was gunning for her.

Rachel didn't answer. All Quinn heard was running water for a few seconds and then the sleepy brunette appeared in the doorway. "Spider babies." Was all she said before she dived back on top of the bed.

Quinn shivered in revulsion and decided to use the guest shower until the maid cleaned the bathroom/gruesome homicide scene.

Twenty minutes later, freshly cleaned and with a renewed, sunny disposition, the athletic blonde returned to her bedroom and watched her wife sleep for a long moment. Quinn dropped the towel on the floor and crawled into bed. Since Rachel had fallen asleep on her back this time it was an easy task for Quinn to unbutton the shirt. Thanking God, as always, for her wife's irrational hatred of bras she pressed several open mouth kisses trailing from Rachel's stomach all the way up to her collarbone.

Rachel opened one weary brown eye and then the other. She angled her head to see what the taller woman was doing on top of her and gave up her quest for sleep. The brunette pushed Quinn off of her and began to pull her clothes off. "Okay, you win, but you're going to have to get yourself started while I wake up."


	8. A Gracious Winner

**Title**: A Gracious Winner  
><strong>Author<strong>: Hippo_Crat  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Length<strong>: 475 words  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: AU, S1  
><strong>Summary<strong>: EGOT-verse. A follow up to "Rachel Berry's Guide to Losing Gracefully".

**A/N**: For an early look at my fics check out my tumblr.

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><p>Quinn rolled over fitfully, beams of sunlight were streaming in through the open blinds and no matter how she turned it seemed like the light moved with her. After several minutes of blindly combating the daylight Quinn gave up and admitted defeat by cracking open one bloodshot hazel eye followed shortly by the other. Based on the overall brightness of the room the attorney would have guessed it to be around late-morning or early afternoon; much later than she was used to sleeping but considering the activities of the night before Quinn felt that both she and her wife deserved the rest.<p>

Feeling somewhat mischievous Quinn turned toward the sleeping brunette and peeled pack the blankets to uncover her wife. Rachel was dead to the world and a very easy, very tempting target.

Quinn wigged in the sheets and wormed her way closer to the blissfully unaware woman, she snaked her pale leg over the brunette's tanned ones and began to ease herself up to a straddling position.

Rachel shifted in her sleep and sent the blonde toppling over with an undignified squawk. With her limbs pinwheeling Quinn threw an arm out to steady herself only to pull back quickly with a muted curse.

Quinn stared at her sore hand in disbelief. _What on Earth was in the bed that would hurt so much?_ The two hadn't used any toys the night before so the blonde was understandably perplexed. With trepidation Quinn leaned over and moved the sheets to examine precisely what her hand had struck.

A naked gold man stared back at her.

When had Rachel's Oscar joined them in bed?

Rachel was understandably proud of EGOTing but not even she would bring the awards to bed, would she?

After nearly twelve years of being in a relationship with Rachel Barbra Berry Quinn could honestly say that the answer would have to be a resounding 'yes'.

A moved pillow revealed that a Tony award was most likely the reason Quinn had been unable to get comfortable through the night. A bulky lump at the foot of the bed was identified as the Grammy.

That left the Emmy MIA…

Quinn growled in exasperation when she saw the Emmy tightly clutched in her wife's arms like some sort of teddy bear. Rachel _would_ choose the only award with the potential to poke her eyes out to cuddle with.

Acting on the need to preserve Rachel's gorgeous brown eyes, Quinn gently tugged on the statuette and began to pull it away. Rachel's brow furrowed in displeasure and she clung even tighter to the award.

"Nooooo," The actress groaned sleepily. " it's my award now. Suck my dick, Babs."

It was one of the few times that Quinn regretted vetoing Rachel's attempts to have a camera crew follow them around at all times to chronicle their lives.


	9. Diplomatic Immunity

****Title**: **Diplomatic Immunity**  
><strong>Author<strong>: **Original-Z**  
><strong>Rating<strong>: **PG**  
><strong>Length<strong>: **692 words**  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: **All of Season One**  
><strong>Summary<strong>: **Quinn was certain she and Rachel had raised a daughter smarter than either of them had been at that age. She was wrong. EGOT verse. Fluff.**  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: **Quinn/Rachel

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><p>"I can't believe you!" Quinn paced the tiled floor of the spacious kitchen. She was in shock; shock was the only logical explanation for the betrayal her own flesh and blood was perpetrating against her. All these years and Quinn had been <strong>certain<strong> she and Rachel had raised a daughter smarter than either of them had been at Liza's age.

She was wrong.

Wounded hazel eyes flashed bitterly. "You can't believe me? I can't believe _**you**_! You're such a hypocritical elitist snob!" After everything her mother had been through it was impossible for Liza to understand why the normally nurturing and understanding woman would turn her back on her own daughter.

"Right, because you weren't just being a judgmental elitist snob not two minutes ago!" Quinn crossed her arms and glared at the stubborn girl in front of her. This was all Rachel's fault. Such stubborn arrogance and just plain _wrong_ opinions had to be the result of Rachel's influence.

"I had an opinion, Mom! That's still allowed, right? To have _opinions_?" Liza crossed her arms and glared right back at her mother. She was not going to give any ground here. Her mother's blind nostalgia was **not** going to sway her and Liza was prepared to stand in the kitchen until she made her point.

The incessant pinging of the microwave broke the staring contest. Quinn brusquely opened a cabinet door and pulled out a glass bowl. Her attempts to slam the door shut were impeded by the latch catching automatically and slowing the wood door to a stop with an infuriatingly gently '_whump'_. Liza stomped over to the microwave and pulled out the steaming bag of popcorn. The impatient brunette tore open the bag and dumped its contents into the waiting bowl. All the while the two women glared at each other.

Quinn led the way back into the theater room. She effortlessly picked up the argument from earlier. "You lose your right to opinions when your opinion is categorically **wrong**! This isn't religion or politics, it's Doctor Who and Tenth Doctor is superior in every way to this pathetic newbie-who. by the way, shouldn't even _exist_!" The blonde picked up the touch screen tablet that controlled all the electronic gizmos in the house and restarted the _Doctor Who_ marathon from where they'd left off.

Liza sank onto the gigantic leather couch by the left arm; her mother took the seat on the other side of the couch practically hugging the right arm. The teenager sulked through the opening credits in silence before she couldn't take it anymore. "Just because it's old doesn't make it better. The Fifteenth Doctor is a way better actor!"

Quinn scrambled for the tablet and turned off the television. "That's it! Go to your room, you can come out when you develop taste."

The young brunette's jaw dropped in disbelief. Fine. If her mother wanted to play hardball Liza could escalate things too. "Momma," She whined poking the women sleeping in the middle of the couch roughly in the stomach. "**Momma!**" Rachel grunted and tried to move away from the pointy fingers trying to puncture her abdomen. Liza rolled her eyes in frustration as she watched her momma sleepily try to cuddle the pillow her mom had abandoned. "Momma, Mom's infringing on my personal rights! Save me from the fascist!"

Rachel sat up with bleary eyes blinking; she'd fallen asleep somewhere around the 7th hour of the marathon snuggled between her two girls. She wasn't surprised her geeks were still going strong. The actress yawned so widely it was a surprise she hadn't accidently unhinged her jaw. "Liza, don't call your mother a fascist. Quinn, Liza is allowed to have her own opinions, provided they don't touch Broadway."

Liza and Quinn crossed their arms simultaneously, identical pouts etched on their faces.

"Stop that. Quinn turn the TV back on, things were just getting good, I want to see Doctor Doolittle save the world from Salvador Dali." With practiced ease Rachel ignored the affronted gasps and cuddled a pillow closer to her chest. Within seconds she'd fallen back asleep leaving the two most important women in her life allied against a common enemy.

Job well done.


End file.
